


Worth A Thousand Words

by Enjoloras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjoloras/pseuds/Enjoloras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh! I've got it!” Courfeyrac suddenly seemed to light up like a literal bulb had appeared over his head, springing onto a vacant chair before anyone could stop him, “We could do a nude calendar!”</p><p>~</p><p>Les Amis are doing a nude calendar, Courfeyrac has no boundaries, Enjolras is having a dilemma and Grantaire's friends are clearly terrible traitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning Of The End

When Feuilly burst into the Musain late one meeting and instantly started talking over everybody, his eyes wide and his hair all ridiculous and windswept, Grantaire knew something had to be seriously wrong.

Feuilly was quite possibly the most considerate person Grantaire had ever had the good fortune to meet, apparently having spent too much time working in customer service to want to inflict any suffering on the world himself. Feuilly never interrupted anyone, so either the Musain was on fire and miraculously none of them had noticed or it was something that threatened the good of humanity. Since he couldn't smell smoke, Grantaire put his money on the latter.

“Feuilly? What's wrong?” Enjolras set down the flyers he was holding, visibly stunned. Courfeyrac was already leading Feuilly over to a seat, rubbing his back and telling him to take deep breaths. He was red-faced and panting, as though he had run all the way there.

“The shelter where I used to stay is closing down,” he said, looking utterly agonized.

“What? No!” Jehan gasped, “Why?”

“Funding,” Feuilly said miserably, unwinding his scarf from around his neck like a sad woolen snake, “Or rather, a considerable lack of it.”

“That's terrible!”

“I know. They really helped me when I was down on my luck, you know? It's not much, sure, but it's a warm meal in your stomach and a bed for the night.” he sighed, “And yeah, I'm doing okay now, thank god, but there's so many people that rely on that place as a lifeline. Hell, I know most of them! It's already autumn – what's going to happen in winter when it's closed? I don't even want to imagine...”

“Surely there's something we can do?” Combeferre said, a thoughtful furrow to his brow, "A petition perhaps?"

“A petition won't help. Unless we magically find a way to pull together some money for it, I don't see what we can do."

Enjolras already looked like he was considering emptying out his entire trust fund to keep the place afloat, Grantaire could see it in his eyes. It was his trademark 'rich kid with a cause' look, and it was pitiful, really.

“We could do a fundraiser of some kind?” Joly put in, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the side of his beer bottle, “Like, I don't know, sell cupcakes?”

Grantaire snorted at the idea, “You'd have to sell a whole bakery's worth.”

“How about a wet t-shirt contest?” Bahorel piped up, waggling his eyebrows.

"It's _September_."

“Yeah, and no one wants to see your nipples again, Bahorel.” Bossuet said, closing his eyes as though he was getting war flashbacks, “Once was enough.”

“We could do, like, a sponsored run?” Cosette suggested.

“What about those of us who can't run, though? It needs to be accessible to everyone.” Joly said, gesturing to his cane.

“Oh! I've got it!” Courfeyrac suddenly seemed to light up like a literal bulb had appeared over his head, springing onto a vacant chair with the energy of a cartoon character before anyone could stop him, “We could do a nude calendar!”

“A nude calendar.” Combeferre echoed, his expression barely changing.

“Yeah! Like in the movies. Come on, we're a good lookin' bunch, right?” Courfeyrac laughed, gesturing around the room, “Ferre, I'm sure plenty of little old ladies would pay good money to see that hot librarian bod of yours.”

“I don't have a hot librarian bod. What even constitutes a 'hot librarian bod'?” Combeferre said, scowling.

Courfeyrac ignored him, ascending from his chair to the table for dramatic effect. Enjolras surreptitiously moved his notepad off the table with a look of exasperation.

“We're not just damn fine, if I do say so myself – we're also diverse as hell, right? In race and gender and body-type and class,” Courfeyrac said, “Don't you think it would be good to put out a calendar that celebrated that? If everyone's okay with it, of course. Only if you want to; no pressure on anyone.”

“I'd be up for that!” Bahorel said.

“You just want an excuse to flex in front of a camera,” Eponine scoffed, but she shrugged, “I'd do it.”

“Me too,” Musichetta said, and of course Bossuet and Joly immediately sacrificed themselves for the cause as soon as she had. _Brave souls_ , Grantaire thought, sipping his drink, _they wouldn't get me doing it if my life depended on it_.

“You really don't have to do this,” Feuilly said, but now he was smiling, “But if you're serious about this, I'm in.”

“Great!” Courfeyrac said, grinning from ear to ear.

Enjolras, it seemed, could take no more; Grantaire had been waiting for him to shut the idea down from the moment the words left Courfeyrac's lips.

“Okay,” He said, helping Courfeyrac down from the table with a long-suffering sigh, “Thrilled though I may be that you're all so unsettlingly eager to disrobe in the name of charity, I think we need a few ground rules if this is actually going to happen.”

Grantaire nearly fell out of his seat at the fact it hadn't been a resolute 'no'.

“Like what?” Courfeyrac said.

“Well first of all, we need to be clear that anyone can drop out at any point if they feel uncomfortable. We don't want anyone to do something they don't want to.”

“Are you going to give us all another lecture about peer pressure?” Eponine piped up from the back, hand raised, “Because if so, I'm gonna go get pizza. Anyone is free to join me; 'liberte, egalite, pepperoni' and all that.”

A few of them started to stand up, but Enjolras called for silence again, “No, I am not going to give you another lecture on peer pressure,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair; Grantaire thought he was about to start pulling it out.

“Can we all just sit down and listen? I promise we can order pizza afterwards, whilst we're going over the details."

A very hungry looking Bahorel sunk back into his seat like a scolded puppy.

“Okay. Courfeyrac, I will be taking control of the project, if that's alright with you.”

“What?” Courfeyrac's grin seemed to drop right off his face. Grantaire felt a little bad for him.

“Why? It was my idea!”

“And we're all very grateful. It's a wonderful idea. All credit will go to you,” Enjolras said, “But deep as my brotherly love for you may run, I am honestly concerned the outcome won't be...PG enough.”

“Ah! And who are you, Enjolras, to censor art?” Grantaire called dramatically from his table, unable to hold back any longer.

Enjolras pointed an accusatory finger in his direction without even taking his eyes off Courfeyrac, “Do _not_ start.”

Courfeyrac at least had the good grace to smile guiltily, though he still seemed somewhat put out.

“Okay, okay, I get that.” he said, “But if that's the case, I get to choose what month I do.”

“Deal.”

“January, then,” Courfeyrac said, “And I want to be the cover picture, too.”

“Okay, fine. Happy now?"

"Yup."

“Wait, wait,” Combeferre stood now, all stern and severe, “We're going to need to hire a photographer. We can't just get someone's phone and start taking photos if we want this to do well. We don't want these to look like grainy snapchat nudes.”

Grantaire wondered how Combeferre knew quite so much about the general quality of snapchat nudes, but now wasn't the time to bring that up.

At this, Enjolras suddenly seemed crestfallen, “Ah,” he said, “Well my parents won't give me any money for that. 'Can I please have some money so that a stranger can take photos of my friends and I naked' probably won't go down very well with them.”

“We could do a bakesale for that!” Marius said, “Cosette makes the best cakes!”

“I do,” Cosette nodded, with no false modesty. Grantaire couldn't disagree. He'd probably ask for Cosette's chocolate muffins for his last meal on death row. Part of him hoped they did the bakesale just on the offchance of snagging a few batches of brownies for himself. A guy had to eat, afterall. 

“Or R could do the photography!” Joly yelled, and suddenly all thoughts of delicious muffins were wiped from Grantaire's mind, replaced by feelings of impending doom and ruthless betrayal.

He turned to Joly, looking at his friend as though he had just committed mutiny, “What?!”

“You did photography in college,” Joly reminded him, unfortunately loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. Enjolras was listening now, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Grantaire could feel his gaze burning into him from all the way across the room. He always managed to have that effect on him.

“I did a six week crash course in it because I had literally nothing else to do in the summer and the studio was the only place I knew with air conditioning,” Grantaire said, wishing he could sink through his chair and disappear, “I'm not exactly Annie Leibovitz or anything.”

“Who the hell is that?” Bahorel said, still looking disappointed that he wasn't getting pizza this very instant.

“A famous photographer.”

“See!” Bossuet cried, “Look at you - you even know the names of famous photographers! You're perfect for it, R!” he said, ruffling Grantaire's curls, “If everyone here is comfortable with you seeing them in their natural state, anyway.”

Grantaire looked at him in dismay, "Et tu?" 

Murmurs of assent went up around the room, with the exception of Enjolras, who looked a little put off by the idea. Grantaire didn't blame him. For once he and Grantaire were on the same page about this whole mess of a situation. Perhaps it was a sign of the apocalypse, the two of them agreeing on something during a meeting.

“I'm comfortable with that.” Feuilly said, “Better that than a stranger.”

“You've literally helped me wax my legs before, so I don't give two shits about you seeing me nude.” Eponine said flatly.

“And you were with me that time I got arrested for indecent exposure,” Jehan added, “So it's nothing new for me. Though I still can't believe it's illegal to be naked in a cemetery. I mean, who's going to complain about it, really? The dearly departed?”

“So we're all agreed then?” Combeferre said, “Grantaire will be the photographer?”

“All in favour, say 'aye'!” Courfeyrac said, beaming.

“Aye!”, in unison.

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac turned to their Fearless Leader, who looked as though somebody had just murdered a kitten in front of him.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I...yes, of course,” he said, suddenly regaining his composure and waving the question away with one hand, “Why wouldn't I be?”

“You're probably the only one of us he hasn't already seen naked under some weird circumstances.” Bahorel commented.

“Yes, well. I suppose there's a first time for everything."

Grantaire wanted to pass out. The only way to make this ordeal less awkward would be to be unconscious or dead. And even then, he wasn't sure.

"If it's a dysphoria thing, you don't have to do it..." Combeferre said gently. 

"No, no, I'm fine with that." Enjolras waved it off, "You all know I'm trans; it's not like I'm not open about that. I'm confident in my body. Why would I have an issue with Grantaire seeing me naked? Not that I necessarily want that,” he said, backtracking quickly, “But I mean. I'm sure it's not likely to be a surprise for him. I mean what is he going to think I have, spines? Scales?”

“I don't know, you could have like, a weird third nipple or something,” Bossuet said, shrugging.

“Did you know Harry Styles has four nipples?” Courfeyrac said.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?” Eponine.

“Okay we're going wildly off tangent here,” Enjolras said, rubbing his temples, “We're all agreed on Grantaire being the photographer, then?”

“All except me,” Grantaire said mildly, “But, you know, I guess that doesn't matter, right? Majority vote. Even this café is a democracy to you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras flushed, “If you don't want to---”

“No, I will,” Grantaire said, taking a swig of beer, “But in future, a 'please' would be nice.”

"I can pay you," Enjolras offered, suddenly seeming rather guilty, "With...I don't know. I'll get some money, I swear---"

"You don't have to pay me." Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras seemed to be the only one in the room who didn't know that Grantaire would've jumped through hoops for him, "You just had to ask."

Enjolras turned an even darker shade of red; it even spread to his ears, Grantaire noticed. He found himself wondering if he blushed all over, and suddenly the prospect of having to photograph a very naked Enjolras became the most harrowing thought in the world. He didn't think he could do that. With the way he felt it wouldn't be morally right, surely? _It's for charity_ , he told himself, as though to steel himself against the idea.

God, if a month ago someone had told him he'd be taking nudes of Enjolras in the name of a Good Cause he'd have asked them what drugs they were on and where he could get some. Funny the way the world works.

“Very well then,” Enjolras turned back to his papers, the slightest tinge of pink still colouring his face, “Who wants to do which month? Also - what pizza does everyone want?"

And pandemonium broke out.


	2. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only a short fic, so each of these chapters will be less than 1000 words - otherwise it would take me a lot longer to finish than I intended.

January was Courfeyrac, as agreed. He left the idea of his 'theme' a complete mystery until he showed up at the Musain, already half naked. He wore a sequinned gold bowtie, and had party hat in one hand and a small pot of body glitter in the other. Grantaire couldn't help but wonder where the party hat was going to go, but he had a horrible feeling it wasn't meant for his head. 

“You look...very festive,” said Enjolras, who had insisted on overseeing the photoshoots. 

“I'm going for a kind of 'New Years Trash' theme,” Courfeyrac explained, already starting to blow up balloons, “Because who doesn't like to party?”

“I can think of a few people,” Grantaire said, side-eyeing Enjolras meaningfully. Enjolras frowned.

“A New Years theme works.” he said, an air of diplomacy about him. 

"I was going to shove a party popper up my ass," Courfeyrac joked - god, Grantaire hoped it was a joke, anyway - "But I didn't want to make a mess..."

"Of course." Enjolras said, tight-lipped. 

Grantaire grinned, unable to help himself, “You're a good sport, Enjolras. Why don't you help blow up the balloons whilst I set the camera up?”

“Fine.”

Grantaire didn't think he'd ever seen a more amusing sight than a red-faced Enjolras trying to blow up colourful party balloons. Still, he didn't think Enjolras would appreciate an audience to his humiliation, so Grantaire did what he'd said he was going to and turned his attention to the camera. 

One of the only things Grantaire had ever prided himself on was his ability to retain information - usually useless information, granted, but still. Not in this instance. It had been over a year since he'd taken any photos that weren't just drunken snapchats to Joly, Bossuet or Eponine, but he was quick to remember what he was doing with a camera. Part of him had hoped he'd forgotten, just to teach Enjolras that volunteering him for the job without his consent had been a bad idea. But the other, much bigger part of him was an absolute sucker for those blue eyes, and embarrassingly eager to please. So here he was, getting ready to snap a photo of Courfeyrac's crotch in the name of charity. 

After renting out the lighting equipment it had quickly become clear that booking a studio would be too expensive, and as a result they had cleverly resorted to a well-lit corner of the backroom of the Musain, covering the walls and floor with white sheets apparently stolen from Bahorel's grandmother's house. Grantaire could only imagine what might become of him when she realised they were missing. He made a mental note to write him a nice eulogy.

“There,” Enjolras said, batting the last of the balloons over to Courfeyrac and coming to stand beside Grantaire behind the camera, somewhat indignant. The static had apparently disagreed with his hair, and his curls were flying all over the place. It was adorable and ridiculous. 

"Done."

“I still can't believe you let them roll with this idea,” Grantaire said, smirking to himself as Enjolras surreptitiously patted down his hair. 

“I'm not a complete buzzkill.” Enjolras argued, "I know you might think I am, but I'm not."

"I never said I thought that."

"You still did, though." Enjolras remarked, looking curiously at all of the lighting equipment.

"What does this do?" he asked, fiddling with the reflector and jumping slightly when it opened out, “Ah,” he said, “It's a...silver...umbrella thing. Of course...”

“It's a reflector, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, amused, “It, you know, reflects. The lighting. Means we don't have to have different light sources.”

“Ah. Yes, well. That makes sense.”

"I can teach you about it, if you like?"

Enjolras seemed tempted.

"No," he said, after a moment of thought; he probably didn't want to endure Grantaire's company any longer than really necessary.

"I've got work to be doing..."

"Alright." Grantaire said, feeling a twinge of disappointment, "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I will. I'll just...go and do what I need to and leave the artsy things to you." Enjolras said, picking up his notepad from the table and shooting Courfeyrac a concerned look as he noticed his friend starting to smother his exposed chest with glitter.

“Keep it tame,” he warned.

“Why, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac gasped, feigning outrage, “Would I ever do otherwise?”

"Yes."

"Okay, guilty - but not _this_ time. This is for charity, I get that!"

Enjolras nodded, cheeks pink, “All I'm saying is I don't want to see anyone's genitals making an appearance in these photos.”

“You make them sound like guest stars.” Grantaire said, blinking as the lighting flashed again.

Enjolras said nothing, simply shaking his head and retreating to the front of the room, where a precarious stack of particularly boring looking books was waiting for him.

Grantaire watched him go for a moment, feeling remarkably fond, and then shook himself out of it, “Okay!” he said, “I think we're ready to go!”

“Great!” Courfeyrac said, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “Now, do you think this party hat covers my junk enough?”

 


	3. February

Marius came next as February, shockingly just as eager to participate as everyone else in the group though he insisted on wearing his underwear.

“It's important we respect everyone's boundaries,” Enjolras said – and Grantaire had resisted the urge to remind him that very few of their friends had those – “People have different ideas about what constitutes nudity. Everyone needs to feel comfortable.”

When Marius showed up for the shoot it became clear to Grantaire that Marius' idea of what constituted nudity was apparently boxers, vest, and odd socks pulled all the way up to his knees. It left pretty much everything but the freckles on his shoulders to the imagination, but Grantaire didn't argue. Modesty was empowering to some, afterall.

So here he was, taking photos of Pontmercy as he held a heart-shaped balloon and a bouquet of roses that were starting to wilt from the heat of the lights. Cosette – who had insisted on supervising to lend emotional support - had suggested Valentines Day for the theme, much to Enjolras' displeasure.

“It's a Capitalist sham,” he complained, “Why can't it just be spring themed? Spring is nice. There’s…flowers, and bunnies and things…”

“Okay, one, I can’t believe I just heard you use the word 'bunnies'. And two, we’ve got to appeal to the romantics out there, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, smiling lazily at him, “Even Capitalist pigs like love!”

The scowl Enjolras gave him would've probably struck most people dead, Grantaire thought, but he didn't argue. He gave a defeated shrug, slinking away to his books again as Marius stood awkwardly in front of the camera like a rabbit in the headlights.

Despite Grantaire constantly reminding him that he didn't have to take part in the calendar if he didn't want to, Marius insisted.

“It's for a good cause!”

“You not passing out is also a good cause, though.” Grantaire said, tweaking with the lighting to try and make Marius look a little less...well, red and alarmed.

“It's okay, really. I don't mind.” Marius said, though his hands seemed to be sweaty on the props, “Do I need to...to pose, or anything, though?” he asked.

“Yeah, absolutely, it's going to be really pin-up-girl-esque...”

“What?!”

Grantaire didn't know it was possible for Marius to turn even more red, but apparently it was. With all the blood in his cheeks, he must have been light-headed by now.

“I'm kidding. It was a joke. You're doing fine, Marius,” Grantaire assured him, “Just. Try to look coy or something, I guess?” 

“Coy?”

“You know. Shy? You are a delicate coquette and a charming gentleman suitor has just asked you to dance. That sort of thing. And, uh, try not to sweat so much...”

The expression Marius made was more 'confusion with a mild edge of panic' than coy, but Grantaire supposed he could make that work too.

“You can go now,” He said, when he was certain he had what he needed.

Marius gave him an immensely grateful look, setting down the props and fleeing to Cosette, who immediately cloaked him in a fuzzy pink blanket, making him look like some kind of pastel ring wraith. 

“You looked so handsome!” she said, pecking him on the lips, “You're so brave!”

Marius was still so red-faced that Grantaire was mildly concerned the blood might never return to the rest of his body and the poor thing would have to struggle through the remainder of his adult life looking like a distressed tomato.

“Did you get any good photos?” said Enjolras, who seemed to have appeared suddenly at Grantaire's side, peering curiously at the camera screen.

“I got enough.” Grantaire shrugged, “Do you want to see them? Give them your seal of approval?”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“That must be the first time you’ve ever said that.”

Enjolras scoffed, “Don’t make it be the last.” he said, “But you know more about this artistic stuff than I do, so…I’m sure the photos will be acceptable.”

“Ah, acceptable!” Grantaire joked, making an overdramatic fainting motion, “You do make me swoon with your high praise! So charming.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but Grantaire fancied he saw a flicker of amusement cross his face as he went back to the table he’d been studying at.


	4. March

“Bahorel, you are _not_ going full nude.” Enjolras said for the fifth time, massaging his temples. 

He sounded like he was about to explode at any moment, and Grantaire almost wanted to congratulate Bahorel for his efforts. He'd been pushing Enjolras' buttons for years - who knew it was as easy as full frontal nudity in a public calendar to make him break?

“Oh come on!” Bahorel said, throwing up his hands with such flourish that the towel around his waist nearly slipped down. Enjolras instantly made to shield his eyes.

“Why not? You're the one who said we're respecting people's boundaries! I just so happen not to have any.”

"He has a point, Enj,” Grantaire said, smirking.

“Do _not_ encourage this, you’re supposed to be on _my_ side for once.” Enjolras snapped, turning back to Bahorel, “We also have to respect the fact that this is a charity calendar, Bahorel,” he explained slowly, “We're aiming for...what was it you said, Grantaire?”

“Suggestive but tasteful, oh Fearless One.”

“Right. Exactly.” Enjolras said, “So we can't have you just...”

“Waving my meat wand around?” Bahorel guessed, raising one eyebrow.

Grantaire had to fight back laughter over the expression that crossed Enjolras' face. He fancied that would have made a better picture than Bahorel's crotch. 

“Not exactly how I would have worded it,” Enjolras said when he had recovered from the apparent shock, “But that's the general idea of it, yes.”

“I’m just very comfortable with my body!”

“And that’s fantastic. Honestly,” Enjolras said, “But some of the people who buy this calendar might not be quite as comfortable with it as you are. People might be somewhat surprised if they turn to March and see—“

“My python. Got it.”

Enjolras grimaced.

“Please listen to him, Bahorel.” Grantaire said, “I never want to see your junk again if I can help it.”

Bahorel scowled indignantly, puffing up his chest, “Hey, the first time was an accident!”

“The _first_ time?” Enjolras said, giving him a disparaging look, “I don't even want to know...” he glanced at Grantaire, who held up his hands as though Enjolras had pointed a gun at him.

“Don't look at me. I didn't ask to. But tequila is a hell of a drink and Bahorel is an excellent dancer. Pity the club didn't feel the same way.”

“Yeah, they were real funny about that, weren’t they?” Bahorel said.

“Bahorel. Please. Cover yourself artfully.” Enjolras begged.

Bahorel huffed, “Fine.” he said, “I’ll keep the towel on, I guess.”

“Wonderful.” Enjolras said, letting out a sigh of relief, “In that case I'm going to go back to my work. Grantaire, I assume you've got this from here on in?”

“Aye, Captain,” Grantaire said, saluting him, “Not one penis will be photographed on my watch. You can rely on me.”

Enjolras shot him a dry look, “Delightful.”

“Aren't I just? Okay, go on, before you give yourself an aneurysm.” Grantaire grinned, ushering Enjolras away gently, “Bahorel, go stand in front of the camera and put on the boxing gloves. Don't forget to flex those muscles.”

“Do you want me to oil up?”

“Bahorel I can honestly say I have never wanted anything less.”


	5. April

Eponine had declared herself 'Miss April' the day they’d designated months, and on the actual day showed up at the Musain twenty-five minutes late with an umbrella in her hand and a cigarette between her teeth.

“April showers,” she said with a halfhearted shrug, stubbing out the cigarette and flicking it into the trash.

“How creative.” Grantaire said, “You’re late.”

“Fashionably. You know me.” Eponine said flatly, throwing her bag into the corner and kicking off her heels.

“Do you really want to do this, or are you just in it so you can ogle Marius' photos?”

“Don't be a complete asshole, R.” she said, starting to strip off.

“But then what would I do with my life? I've got an art degree, Ep. Being an asshole is my only viable career choice."

“Haha,” she shot him a scathing look, “You're a fucking hypocrite. You're the one who's going to be taking nudes of our very own patron saint of liberty. Isn't that a bit shady, given the fact you want to bone him?”

“Okay, first of all, don't word it like that, god. Secondly, I do _not_.”

“Of course you don't. And what, would you prefer I said ‘make love to’?”

Grantaire glared at her, “Just get the rest of your clothes off.”

“Never say that to me again.” Eponine shuddered, but complied, shivering a little from the cold.

Eponine was definitely at the other end of the scale to Marius, choosing to wear nothing but a leather jacket and eyeliner so sharp it could probably cut someone. She covered the more scandalous body parts with the open umbrella, twirling it slowly.

“So aren't you going to do a month?” she asked conversationally, striking a pose.

“I'm doing every month,” Grantaire said, shrugging as he fiddled with the settings on the camera, “I'm the photographer, in case the camera didn't give it away.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don't think the world is ready to see me butt-naked to be honest.” he said, “It would be a scandal. What would my parents think?”

Eponine smirked, “Like you give a damn what your parents think. Ah well - maybe one day, hey?”

“Maybe.” Grantaire muttered, “Now let me do this, please. My artistic temperament needs silence to work.”

Eponine snorted, sticking out her tongue before resuming her pose.

“But just think,” she pressed, raising one eyebrow, “Enjolras might see the photos of you and lose his mind with desire!”

“Yes, that seems incredibly likely,” Grantaire said, shaking his head, "Keep it down, would you? He's over there," he muttered, gesturing to the back of the room, where Enjolras was sitting, his attention apparently buried in a huge textbook. 

"He has headphones in. I can say whatever I like." Eponine said.

"Whatever..." Grantaire sighed.

Eponine was a friend he’d trust with his life, but not necessarily with a secret. It was a good kind of friendship to have though, really. She ripped him apart for his unrequited love, and he ripped her apart for her’s. It was a fair exchange.

“Really though, don’t you think it’s kind of dodgy that you’re going to take nudes of him and he doesn’t know how you feel?” Eponine asked, still spinning the umbrella, “Not that I’m accusing you of anything, but I’d knock someone’s teeth out for that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m going directly to hell. I don’t know what to do, okay?” Grantaire said, that shameful feeling stirring in his stomach again, “I didn’t volunteer for this, remember? It was a public execution. I guess I’ll just burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“How? Are you going to _tell him_ you want to bone him?”

“ _Eponine!_ ”

“Sorry, sorry - make love to.”

“Absolutely not. Christ. Please be quiet."

"Alright. Well, hope it works out for you,” she said airily, changing up her pose, “And by that I mean I hope he doesn’t kill you for photographing him in nothing but his birthday suit if he ever finds out your feelings are less than innocent.”

Grantaire focused on the camera to avoid meeting her gaze, “They’re partly innocent." he mumbled, "I mean I don’t just want to…just, don't make it sound so sleazy, okay? It’s different with him, I actually…you know what, forget it.”

“R, I get it.” Eponine said, and when he dared to look up he saw she had a deeply sympathetic look on her face, “Trust me." she said, "I get it.”


	6. May

It was Bossuet for May, and Grantaire was strangely grateful. It was almost a respite, compared to the last few shoots. He'd been in far more compromising situations than this with Bossuet and Joly, and not all of them under the influence of alcohol. What was a little full frontal nudity between friends? Nothing, really, compared to their other escapades, including but definitely not limited to: 

  * The incident at Fontaines de la Concorde, when they may or may not have been arrested for skinny dipping.
  * Bossuet setting one of his sleeves and as a result part of his arm on fire by taking a flaming shot (incorrectly, as Grantaire had pointed out over and over again in A&E) Bossuet had lamented for weeks about the loss of his arm hair; 'it's some of the only hair I have!' he'd said.
  * The time they'd all used Joly's prosthetic leg to play croquet and subsequently terrified an old woman with a heart condition.



Next to all of that, this was going to be a picnic in the park. At least this couldn't end in a hangover from hell or criminal charges. Probably.

Bossuet arrived at the Musain right on time, but spent another twenty minutes flirting with Musichetta when he should have been ordering coffee for their poor under-caffeinated photographer. At least in Grantaire's opinion, anyway.

“You don't have to flirt with her. She's already your girlfriend.” Grantaire pointed out, as Bossuet struggled with his coat.

“You don't just stop flirting once you start dating someone!" Bossuet argued, wrinkling his nose, "Man, no wonder you're still single, R.”

“And here I thought it was this face!”

“You're not that bad looking.” Bossuet said, “You're like, average. A five, easily. Maybe a six on your good days."

Grantaire snorted, “Gee, thanks.”

“You're welcome. So, where do you want me?”

“I haven't decided yet. I'm trying to figure out how to stop the light bouncing off your head,” Grantaire said, tweaking the lights, “It's going to be nearly impossible...”

“Ah, you know me. I oiled it up especially to make life difficult for you.” Bossuet joked, grinning, “Do you have a theme in mind?”

“Not really. I've had a lot on my mind at the moment, I haven't really had a chance to think creatively...”

“We'll just wing it, then.” Bossuet shrugged, “Sucks being May. I wanted to be March, but Bahorel beat me to it.”

“That is a pity. We could've gone for the Ides of March, otherwise. I don't know how on board you are with the idea of all our friends stabbing you for the sake of art, but would've been cool...” Grantaire said, taking a test shot that was less than flattering.

“Are you still annoyed at me and Joly?”

“For tying the noose to hang me with?" Grantaire said, "Now, why on earth would I be annoyed about that?”

Bossuet had the consideration at least to look guilty for the crime, “Sorry.” he said, “We just sort of got carried away in the moment...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's okay, really; it's for a good cause and all that. Now come on, disrobe,” Grantaire urged, “Cover your dignity though. Mon ange was very specific about not having any genitals on display. He's an insufferable philistine. I know it comes as no surprise.”

Bossuet pulled off his shirt, “Maybe you should take it upon yourself to...educate him about the fine arts then, eh?” he raised his eyebrows suggestively, before dropping his trousers. 

“Are you going to give me the same spiel as Eponine? She's already grilled me about the general skeeviness of me photographing Enjolras naked. You don't have to go there, trust me.”

“Go where?”

At that terribly inopportune moment Enjolras waltzed into the Musain, blonde hair stuck up in a messy bun on his head and his cheeks pink from the cold outside. He stopped dead when he saw Bossuet, pivoting on the spot so as not to face him in all his, uh, natural glory.

“Pardon me. I didn't realise you'd be getting started already.” he said, face turning even redder.

“I was just so eager to get naked for R,” Bossuet said, before adding, “You know how it is.”

Grantaire barely resisted the urge to hurl the camera at his face.

Enjolras shook his head despairingly, “I'll be at the back of the room if you need me,” he said, and god, he had the audacity to actually _smile_ at Grantaire before heading off to his table to work.

“What a beautiful bastard.” Bossuet said quietly when he was out of earshot, “Good luck, R.”

“Shut up and cover your junk,” Grantaire muttered, turning his attention to the camera, “Let's get this over with.”


	7. June

Grantaire hadn't imagined that the shoot with Combeferre would be so painfully uncomfortable, but alas.

  
He and Grantaire weren't exactly close - not that they were particularly not close, either, if that made sense. It was just that, well, they were considerably different in how they saw life. Combeferre saw the wonder in everything. He was full of optimism and faith in the good of humanity, and Grantaire...well, he couldn't be more different in that regard.

But that wasn't to say Grantaire didn't have borderline ridiculous amounts of respect for him. Afterall, Combeferre did the arduous public service of keeping Courfeyrac and Enjolras at least partly reigned in. It was a good thing he did, because sans Combeferre Grantaire was pretty sure they'd both be either dead or serving a life sentence. Saying Grantaire respected Combeferre would've been the understatement of the century.

  
The triumvirate were near inseparable. The three musketeers, so on and so forth. They did everything together, but 'everything' did not, it seem, extend to nude photoshoots.  
Enjolras - the filthy fucking traitor - had forgone supervising, leaving Grantaire alone to do the dirty work. Apparently the idea of seeing someone who was practically his brother in all his stark nakedness was too harrowing for Enjolras to withstand. _Either that, or he just wants an excuse to avoid you,_ Grantaire thought miserably.

  
In fairness, the theme Grantaire had picked probably didn't help.

  
“A sexy doctor?” Combeferre said it with the stern, resigned air of a disappointed parent.

  
“Look, I know, it's not exactly original, but it works.” Grantaire reasoned, “You're a med student. You're in a nude calendar. It was an easy connection to make, okay?”

  
“I get that. But really? A sexy doctor?” Combeferre sighed, “It's so...cliché.”

  
“Well then stop acting like it's a surprise to you.” Grantaire said, “Did you bring the things I asked?”

  
“Of course.” he said, gesturing to the bag he'd brought with him, “Where's Enjolras, anyway? I thought he was helping you with these.”

  
“He had other things to do today. Why, need the moral support?”

  
“No.” Combeferre furrowed his brow, “He just mentioned it, is all. He says your photos are quite good.”

  
“Quite good.” Grantaire echoed, “That's a step up from 'acceptable'. He really is a flatterer.”

  
“Well, he said it with a bit more vibrancy than me.” Combeferre said, “He's quite impressed, I think."

  
“That's great.” Grantaire got the distinct feeling he was being tested in some way, “I'm glad he likes them. Now come on – get out that 'hot librarian bod' Courfeyrac was talking about...”

  
Combeferre looked flustered for a moment - a rare sight indeed - before shrugging off his blazer.

  
“Speaking of, how does Courfeyrac know about your 'hot librarian bod'?” Grantaire smirked, “I mean, not that I'm prying or anything...”

  
“It's none of your concern.”

  
“Sorry, sorry...”

  
“I think we need to have a serious conversation, anyway,” Combeferre said, casually unbuckling his belt; Grantaire really didn't like how seriously he was talking to him whilst getting disrobed.

“I want you to be very mindful when you are photographing Enjolras." he said, "He says he's happy to do it, and I believe him, but I don't want you making fun of him. He's more self-conscious than he lets on.”

  
“He shouldn't be,” Grantaire said rather helplessly, “He's stunning.”

  
Combeferre looked at him strangely, “Still – be gentle with him. None of your snide remarks.”

  
“I'll, uh, be gentle...can you not word it like that?”

  
“Sorry.”

  
“Anyway, do you honestly think I'm a complete jerk?” Grantaire mumbled, fiddling with the lights to avoid looking at him, “I get it, okay? Trust me. I know more than anyone what it's like to be self-conscious. Just finish getting undressed, okay?”

  
Combeferre said nothing, kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

  
Soon he'd stripped down to nothing but his white medical coat and his glasses, a stethoscope hanging limply around his neck.

  
“Alright – strike a pose!” Grantaire urged once the lighting was set up.

  
“Do I get some kind of pretext to go off?” Combeferre asked, looking at him from over the top of his glasses.

  
“Like what? Delivering bad news to someone?”

  
“I just mean some kind of...backstory.” he said, gesturing airily with one hand, “To get into character.”

  
“Are you serious? I'm not roleplaying with you.” Grantaire said, “You're already a doctor.”

  
“Not quite yet. I'm still learning."

  
“Okay whatever. You're telling someone they're, like, cured of something bad, okay?”

  
“Malaria.” Combeferre decided, “I feel like that packs a punch.”

  
“I didn't expect you to be this weird, I'm not going to lie.” Grantaire said flatly, “Just...put the stethoscope in your mouth, you know? Like, bite it or something, and look fierce...”

  
Combeferre looked as though Grantaire had just asked him to kick a puppy, “Do you have any idea how expensive these are?”

  
Grantaire let out a long groan.


	8. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a reason I've skipped July - just wait for it and trust me.

Photographing Cosette for August turned out to be an utter delight – and not in a weird creepy way, Grantaire was extremely quick to point out when Enjolras gave him an outraged look for saying so out loud.

Like Marius, Cosette had decided to go for the slightly more modest approach, but unlike Marius and his extremely mismatched underwear, she was more than willing to trade in the idea for a pastel blue bikini that complimented the colour of her hijab almost flawlessly.

And, unlike Marius, Cosette honourably brought their poor photographer baked goods, which were, no exaggeration, practically orgasmic.

At least someone in their group understood that the phrase 'starving artist' applied literally in Grantaire's case.

“So, what are we doing?” she asked.

“We thought we'd keep it simple and do a summery theme,” Enjolras said. He'd appeared beside Grantaire unannounced, apparently to steal some of the brownies Cosette had provided. Grantaire could hardly blame him. He did, however, totally blame him for the unnecessarily sexual noises he was making whilst enjoying said brownies.

Cosette beamed, “Well, in that case great minds think alike!” she said, holding up a beach ball that she seemed to have produced out of nowhere.

“It's nearly October. Where did you find that?” Enjolras asked.

“Ebay, obviously. Papa was very confused as to why I needed it. He's very supportive but I figured it was best to keep him in the dark about the details of this little project.” Cosette shrugged.

“That's probably wise,” Grantaire agreed, “Your father is great but he's also built like a brick house. If he got the wrong idea and thought you were being exploited or something he could snap Enjolras in half. No offence,” he said, glancing at the blond.

Enjolras frowned, “Why me?”

“Well you're in charge of this project, so...”

“You're the photographer!”

“Only under duress!”

"Well it was Courfeyrac's idea!"

"Nice, throw your best friend under the bus. Real classy."

“Boys, come on,” Cosette said, waving to get their attention, “Papa knows I can handle myself. My body, my rules. I just didn't want him worrying. Nobody is getting snapped in half.”

Despite the teasing nature of the conversation, Grantaire definitely saw Enjolras let out a little breath of relief.

“See? Relax,” he said, “Have another brownie before I eat them all.”

“Oh, do you like them?” Cosette asked, gesturing to the tray. Grantaire and Enjolras both nodded enthusiastically in unison.

“They're fantastic,” Enjolras said, “Deliciously moist.”

“Oh my god, are you asking me to make a crude joke?” Grantaire moaned through a mouthful of chocolate chip. Enjolras glared at him, but for the briefest of moments Grantaire thought he saw a faintly amused look cross his face.

“R,” Cosette said, putting a hand on her hip.

“Sorry, sorry - ma cherie, they are divine, much like yourself,” Grantaire smirked, “Now, look like you're batting the beach ball around or something. I can add in some stock photo of a beach in editing.” he said, helping himself to another brownie.

“These are really good.” he remarked, offering another to Enjolras, who took it without hesitation.

“Cosette, why don't you own a bakery yet?”

“Oh, you know – I have to give other people a chance. It wouldn't be fair to monopolise all of Paris.” Cosette joked, “Are we ready, then? Or do we need to take a snack break? Enjolras, sweetheart, you have chocolate on your face.”

Enjolras flushed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Grantaire snickered, “Very dignified.”

Cosette rolled her eyes, “It's like working with children.”


	9. September

“Joly, come on!” Grantaire groaned, “It's not that big of a deal.”

“I can't believe you gave the 'sexy doctor' theme to Combeferre.” Joly shook his head, slumping down in his seat with a defeated sigh as though it was the worst thing to ever happen to him ever in his whole life.

Enjolras, standing awkwardly at Grantaire's side, seemed lost on what to do.

“It wasn't on purpose,” he assured Joly, “It was just that Combeferre came first.”

Joly didn't seem to hear him. He looked ridiculously forlorn for the circumstances. Grantaire had never realised being a 'sexy doctor' in a homemade nude calendar was on his bucket list. 

“I bet he didn't even appreciate it!" Joly wailed, "I was so pumped to do that. I stole a surgeons mask and everything...”

“I don't want to know how you planned to make the idea of infectious disease sexy, but I'll take your word for it. I'm sorry, okay?” Grantaire said, adding charitably, “You can be a sexy vet? I brought a plush dog.”

“We can't have two medical themes! Forget it - we should've just drawn straws or something.”

“Man, the politics of photographing you all butt naked are getting really intense,” Grantaire mused to Enjolras, “It's more work than I didn't sign up for.”

“Yes. Well. Apologies for that.” Enjolras said, patting him gently on the arm before retracting his hand as though Grantaire had just tried to bite it.

“I'll go and...sit in the back...”

“You don't always have to, you know?” Grantaire said before he could stop himself. He wanted to slap himself when he heard how desperate it came out. He couldn't have sounded more pitiful if he'd tried. 

Enjolras laughed nervously, toying with a rogue curl of his hair. _You're making him uncomfortable, you ass!_ Grantaire cursed to himself, _just let him get on with his work._

“I...have things to do,” Enjolras said, “And I don't want to bother you.”

“You couldn't bother me.” _What the fuck are you saying?_

“I mean, not more than you usually do.” _That's actually worse somehow!_

Grantaire looked down, wanting to die, “Just, uh, go work. I'll shout you when we're done here.”

Enjolras nodded, fleeing the conversation like it was a battlefield.

Grantaire, wondering if embarrassment could actually be fatal, turned his attention back to Joly, still despondent.

“You over it yet?” he asked, still mortified from his interaction with Enjolras.

“I guess.”

“Not to be a dick or anything, but you kind of deserve this very minor letdown for throwing me to the wolves.”

“Is this revenge?” Joly arched an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“Petty asshole.”

“You know me.” Grantaire said, “But no - I didn't actually mean for this to happen.”

“Fine, I'll do sexy vet.” Joly said, kicking off his shoes, “But I won't enjoy it.”

“You can wear your surgeons mask.”

Joly stuck out his tongue, pulling off his socks with unnecessary flourish.

He stopped when he got to his trousers, “Leg on, or off?” he joked, fluttering his eyelashes with false coyness.

Grantaire laughed, “You tease!” he said, and shrugged, “Your choice. Go with what you feel most comfortable with.”

“On, then. I think it'll be good to normalise prosthetic limbs.”

“Nice.”

“So, uh...how are things going with you and Fearless Leader...?” Joly said conversationally, starting to unbutton his shirt. Said Fearless Leader had his headphones on so loud Grantaire could hear the tinny sound of his music from all the way across the room.

Grantaire groaned, rolling his eyes, “I swear if one more person pesters me about Enjolras I'm going to throw myself off the Eiffel tower---”

“I'm just saying!” Joly held up his hands, “No need to be so defensive. He just seems to be in an usually good mood lately, is all...anyone would think he enjoys spending all this time with you...”

“Did you not just see him run off like I slapped him in the face?”

“If you slapped him in the face he'd kick you in the balls, not run off.” Joly scoffed, “But whatever. Let's do this.” he said, pulling the stupid plush golden retriever from Grantaire's bag and setting it on his lap to hide the goods.

“Man, that is so inappropriate.” Grantaire said, “You should never work with animals.”


	10. October

Jehan had vied with tooth and claw for the right to be October. Grantaire hadn't expected any less - there was absolutely no way their resident Romantic with a capital R (Ha!) would have let anyone else get to be Halloween. Everyone had been more than happy to let them; there would have been blood otherwise, Grantaire was sure of it.

They turned up at the Musain on the day of the shoot with a bag stuffed with bizarre and frightening artefacts, from fake cobwebs to a full blown werewolf mask. The was a string of angry little pumpkin lights, and a weird plastic severed zombie hand. The item that concerned Grantaire the most, however, was the very realistic looking skull they pulled out of their bag last.

“Is that thing real?” He asked anxiously as he started to set up the lights. Going off every horror movie ever made he was pretty sure that this was how the Musain ended up being haunted. That would be just typical, really; Jehan shows up for a photoshoot and leaves them with ghosts to deal with. He tried to imagine Enjolras competing with an angry poltergeist for the attention of the room.

Okay, it was a funny mental image, but it was still probably better to avoid the need for an exorcism altogether.

“Don't worry about it,” Jehan said dismissively, admiring the skull, “It's an antique. I think it used to be used as a medical teaching aid in like, the eighteen hundreds. Isn't that fascinating? I mean, that does mean it was probably snatched from a grave or one of the catacombs or something, but still - it's neat, right?"

“Great...” Grantaire said, “You don't happen to have the number for the Ghostbusters, do you?”

“If I did do you honestly think I'd be here right now, and not at their door begging for a job?”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it. If that was a real career option my linguistics degree could kiss my bare ass goodbye.”

Grantaire laughed, “Alright. But, uh, try to keep the creepy to a minimum okay? I know this is a Halloween shoot but I don't want anything to follow me home. Call me a coward but I'm not about the 'Paranormal Activity' crap.”

“Come on R, you're a better sport than that!” Jehan said, crossing their arms, “You're always making 'I hope this kills me' jokes, you self-depreciative asshole.”

“Okay, you're right. I suppose I do have a certain blasé attitude to the possibility of dying.” Grantaire conceded, “Fine. If a demon drags me down my hallway or some shit I'm just gonna let it. It'll be really disappointed that I'm not fighting back, like, 'damn, buddy, that's rough'.”

“That's the spirit!” Jehan said, grinning devilishly, “No pun intended. And you can't talk about me not being creepy – you were there with me in that graveyard.”

“Yeah, only because I was absolutely trashed on Halloween punch and I didn't want you getting arrested.” Grantaire argued, “Which happened _anyway_.”

“That was such fucking bullshit. People can't be nude in a cemetery, now?” Jehan shook their head, “Mary Shelley is spinning in her fucking grave.”

“That's true, but still illegal. Nudity in the Musain, however, is now apparently totally encouraged – so get your clothes off.”

“'Nudity totally encouraged.' I hope Chetta gets management to put that on a sign.” Jehan said airily, divesting themself of their clothing with unsettling ease. Jehan, despite seeming sweet and demure, was that friend that everyone had - that one that was always the first to get naked at any party involving alcohol.

And occasionally at parties that didn't, too.

Grantaire had way too many memories of Jehan ending up partially nude and covered in glitter. He was quite sure they must have been going for some kind of unofficial record. Bahorel trailed behind in a close second. One day they'd end up going head to head over reigning supreme champion. 

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“I don't know, really. Surprise me – tastefully.”

Jehan tilted their head, giving Grantaire a quizzical 'are you okay?' sort of look.

“When did you care about things being tasteful?” they asked, pulling on a witches hat that flopped down over their face. 

“Since Enjolras got on my back about it." 

“Ah,” Jehan smiled almost sadly, “You still haven't done him yet, have you?”

“ _Don't word it like that._ ” Grantaire hissed, glancing over his shoulder at Enjolras, who was once again engrossed in his work, headphones in. 

“You know what I mean." Jehan said, "His photos. What month is he going to be? July?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire mumbled, pretending to be transfixed by the camera settings so he didn't have to look up and see the excruciatingly sympathetic look on Jehan's face, “He's going to do a Bastille Day theme.” he said, “All French flags and...nothing else...”

Jehan let out a low whistle, “Yikes. Sorry, man.”

“Shut up and fuck your skull or whatever you plan to do.”

“Don't talk about Yorick that way! He's a member of this family!”

 


	11. November

“R, sexy barista is _not_ a thing. It's just not.”

“Well then we're going to make it a thing,” Grantaire said, fixing the angle of one of the lights, “Trust me, Chetta, if anyone can make this look work, it's you.”

It wasn't a lie. Musichetta was one of those people who oozed confidence, and if Grantaire had learnt anything from this highly uncomfortable project it was that confidence was, indeed, sexy. Not to mention she looked like an old Hollywood movie star. In nothing but heels and a pearl coloured faux-fur coat, she gave off the vibes of some kind of queen of the silver screen.

“Shameless flatterer.” Musichetta said, rolling her eyes. She sat back on a table, crossing her legs, “How is a guy like you still single?” she joked.

“Bossuet says I'm unromantic.” Grantaire said, “I say it's my face. Or my personality. Who knows, maybe it's all three? I'm a triple threat.”

“Unromantic my ass,” Chetta snorted, swinging her legs back and forth, “I've seen how you look at you-know-who...”

“Voldemort?”

“Don't play dumb.”

Grantaire shrugged, looking down awkwardly, “Sometimes his speeches are inspirational, is all...”

“Oh, so it's admiration for his activism that gets you all moony-eyed, then?” Musichetta gave him a wry smile, “Sure. Tell yourself that if it helps you deal with it..."

Grantaire cleared his throat, aware that his cheeks were rapidly turning scarlet, “Anyway,” he said, “Can we move swiftly on...? He's going to get here any minute, I'd rather this not be the conversation he walks in on...”

Musichetta gave him a pitying smile, running one hand over her coat like it was a pet, “Of course.” she said.

 _At least she's more merciful than Eponine,_ he thought.

“So,” she said, “Were my boys good models for you?”

“Sort of?” Grantaire said, adjusting the settings on the camera, “Joly was unhappy about being shelved for the 'sexy doctor' theme. He settled on 'alluring veterinarian' but it was under duress...”

“Tragic.” Musichetta snickered, shaking her head.

At that moment, the door opened and Enjolras entered the room, face red from the cold, lugging a bag full of books with him.

“What's tragic?” he asked, smiling brightly. That smile made Grantaire's legs feel weak. He played it off, pretending to be totally focused on setting up the shot.

“Joly and the great sexy doctor debacle of 2017,” Musichetta explained, shooting Grantaire a knowing smirk, “He was lamenting about it for days.”

“Oh, that,” Enjolras looked almost guilty, “It was an accident.” he said.

Grantaire didn't even have to look up from the camera to know that Enjolras was making his way over to him. Enjolras was one of those magnetic, awe-inspiring people who's presence you could just feel. It was almost impossible not to stare at him. Grantaire was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who felt that way about him. How could he be?

“How are you getting on?” he said, laying a hand on Grantaire's shoulder.

“Great,” Grantaire said, swallowing hard, “We're just about to get started. Thought we could play off the whole 'Parisian Cafe' thing...”

“Good idea.”

Grantaire nodded, “Uh-huh...anyway, uh...I guess we should get started,” he said, feeling equal parts relieved and disappointed when Enjolras inevitably removed his hand.

“Chetta, strike a pose.”

Musichetta raised one eyebrow, “What kind of pose?”

“I don't know. Like you're trying to take someone's order, but, you know...sexy.”

She sighed heavily, fluffing up the coat with a movement of her shoulders, “Fine. But just so you know, no one in food service would ever wear these heels.”


	12. December

Fortunately for Grantaire, December was easy.

It had unanimously been decided that Feuilly, the embodiment of the season of goodwill, would be the man of the month.

It seemed only appropriate; Feuilly was kindness and generosity in human form. Wherever he went he was dropping change into homeless people's hats and donating to those wildlife charities. Once he'd arrived late at a meeting because he'd stopped to rescue a kitten from a tree. For real. Grantaire didn't think that sort of thing actually happened, but low and behold, he'd ended up in the local news for it.

The theme Grantaire had picked was simple and festive; winter wonderland. He knew that would go down well with Enjolras. No religious holidays, just gaudy knitwear and cheap fake snow that Musichetta had demanded he vacuum up afterwards. Grantaire had readily agreed; maybe if he spent long enough cleaning up the fake snow he'd grow old and die before he had to photograph Enjolras. Problem solved.

Feuilly showed up for the shoot ten minutes late and with only fifteen minutes in which to get it done. Grantaire didn't have to ask why – the poor soul had more jobs than Grantaire could count (okay, that was a lie, he 'only' had three, but that was still more than Grantaire thought humanly possible)

He was what Enjolras called 'a slave to Capitalism'.

“Sorry we have to rush,” Feuilly said, digging into his bag for the knitted scarf and bobble hat he'd brought, “My manager had me cover for someone at the last minute...”

“It's okay,” Grantaire said, “I'm all ready to go. Trust me, I'd much rather get these photos over and done with. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.” he winced, “Okay, forget I said that. You get the idea though.”

Feuilly nodded, “I'm sorry they volunteered you to be the photographer. I didn't expect this to happen.”

Grantaire shrugged, “It's for a good cause, right? All in the name of charity.” 

“Well I really appreciate it.” Feuilly smiled, pulling the hat on over his ears.

“Feuilly!”

Enjolras had apparently deigned to look up from his work, and, seeing Feuilly, decided to remove his headphones and grace them both with his heavenly presence. The way Enjolras looked at Feuilly was probably, Grantaire thought, the closest thing to the way he looked at Enjolras. He figured maybe he ought to be jealous of that fact, but he found he couldn't be. Everyone looked at Feuilly that way. He was just amazing like that. Enjolras, though, was definitely president of the Feuilly fan club.

“Hey, Enjolras,” Feuilly said, donning his scarf, “How are you?”

“Great, great...you look fantastic.” Enjolras gushed, “I mean, the choice of knitwear.”

“The theme was R's idea,” Feuilly told him, and Grantaire had the distinct feeling he was singing his praises to Enjolras for charitable reasons. Always trying to help out someone else. Man, what a guy. Even Grantaire was a little in love with him.

Enjolras beamed, “Well, it's great.” he said, “I wanted to avoid fixating on any religious holidays. Everyone can enjoy winter!”

“I don't know about that, Enj. I, for one, hate the cold weather.” Grantaire said, “Ice on the pavement? Freezing my balls off? No thanks. Tis the season to stay the fuck inside, if you ask me.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Okay, most people can enjoy winter. Honestly, and _I'm_ the buzzkill?”

Grantaire gave a little shrug, trying not to laugh. It was rare to see Enjolras in a playful mood.

“I never said that. But I'm glad you're happy with the theme.”

Enjolras huffed, clearly making every effort not to smile. Grantaire saw his lips curl up at the corners regardless.

“It's not entirely terrible, I suppose.”

“Mhmm...”

Feuilly cleared his throat, “Uh, not to interrupt this, but, uh, should I start to strip off?” he asked, “I don't have long.”

“Oh, yeah, of course...” Grantaire said, tearing his gaze away from Enjolras, “Go for it.”


	13. July

“Grantaire, these are wonderful,” Enjolras said, as he panned through the finished photos on the laptop in front of him, “Really. They look amazing.”

The praise made Grantaire practically glow. It was embarrassing, really, but he couldn't stop beaming.

“Yeah?” he said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah. I mean, I never want to see Combeferre or Courfeyrac like that ever again,” Enjolras laughed, “But the photos are great!”

“Thank you. I'm glad you like them...” Grantaire said, hesitating a moment, “We're almost ready to put it together. But, uh, you know, we still need July...”

Enjolras froze, “Oh,” he said, “Ah, yes. That's me, isn't it?”

“Well we let you have July for Bastille day. We even got you a big flag. Thought a bit of patriotic spirit might be good.” Grantaire fumbled, “But you don't have to do it. We can find someone else...”

“No, I'm fine with it.” Enjolras argued, getting to his feet, “Is the lighting still set up? We can do it right now, if you like.”

“Oh. Really? Right this second?” Grantaire felt his cheeks grow hot. He'd thought he'd at least have time to prepare himself for the morally dubious task of photographing Enjolras. Apparently he wasn't going to get that.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe it wouldn't be too weird. It was for charity, afterall.

Enjolras made his way over to the makeshift studio, immediately pulling off his jumper as casually as anything. Grantaire felt as though he might faint.

Okay, maybe it would be bad.

“Woah uh---slow down, please.” _Please_. “Give me a chance to get the camera ready...”

“Oh, sorry,” Enjolras said, turning a little pink.

Grantaire took as long as he could to fix the settings, mentally evaluating how he could get out of the situation. He could feign a heart attack or something, maybe? Or set off a fire alarm so they had to evacuate the building? No, not practical...

Eventually he couldn't stall any longer; it had been twenty minutes, it was probably starting to get noticeable now. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile to his face, “Okay, ready to go...”

"Alright."

And just like that Enjolras shed his t-shirt, stripping down to his binder and then making to unbutton his jeans.

That was about where Grantaire's nerve up and left him. He couldn't do this. It wasn't right. What would Enjolras think if he ever found out how he felt about him? It seemed like a violation of sorts. Hell, what would he think Grantaire wanted to _do_ with those photos? He had to stop this right now, before this went any further. He was an asshole, sure, but he wasn't a pervert.

“Stop!” he cried, turning away and covering his eyes for added measure.

“What? Why?”

“Just...stop. Please. I can't take these photos.”

“What?” Enjolras sounded perplexed, “Why not?”

“Because. It's just not right. For moral reasons.” Grantaire said.

“Moral reasons?” there was a pause, and then, sounding somewhat hurt, “Are you making fun of me?”

“No! For once, no!” Grantaire said, spinning around, still covering his eyes.

Grantaire could see how he'd jump to that conclusion; he spent an immeasurable amount time mocking Enjolras' ideals – mostly the sheer, heartbreaking naivety of them. But this was different. This was a matter of consent, and of not being a total and utter creep.

“Grantaire, look at me!” Enjolras demanded.

Grantaire grimaced, peeking through his fingers.

Enjolras was standing there in a binder and red boxers, arms folded angrily across his chest. Despite the scowl on his face, he looked visibly wounded by Grantaire's words.

“What's wrong with me?” he said, “Why can't you photograph me? You had no problem with anyone else.”

“It's complicated, Enjolras, really.”

“How?” he pressed.

“It's just complicated!” Grantaire insisted, desperate for him to drop it, “Put your clothes back on – please!”

“Not until you tell me what your problem is!” Enjolras growled.

God, he was going to have to do it, wasn't he? This wasn't exactly how Grantaire had envisioned telling Enjolras how he felt about him. Not that he'd actually thought he'd ever have to balls to tell him under any circumstances.

But really, like this? Fucking hell.

“Enjolras, I can't take these photos of you because it wouldn't be right with the way I feel about you.”

Enjolras' expression went from upset to stunned so quickly Grantaire thought he might get emotional wiplash. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but he didn't seem able to speak anymore.

A horrible, gravelike silence fell over them both, and Grantaire was just starting to consider climbing out of the window to escape when Enjolras finally managed to form words again.

“...How you feel about me?”

Grantaire winced, “Yeah.”

He'd never wanted the floor to swallow him up more in all his life.

“I...oh. How do you feel about me?”

“Come on, Enjolras, don't make me say it, okay?” Grantaire sighed, running his fingers through his curls, “You're smart. Put two and two together. I can't take these photos because it would be inappropriate. It's a serious breech of consent or whatever. And fucking creepy, too. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a crime or something, but I don't know. You'd have to ask Bahorel, but don't tell him I told you he'd know. He'd never admit to studying.”

Enjolras looked like he'd just received a blow to the back of his head; he was staring at Grantaire, apparently dumbstruck. Of course he was the only one in their group who hadn't got the memo about Grantaire's pathetic infatuation with him. Typical. He could see through any politican's motives and churn out ten page essays on it but he couldn't see what was right in front of him. He could've spelled it out in flashing neon lights, or had an airplane write it in the sky, but Enjolras would still probably miss the point.

“Say something,” Grantaire begged, the silence unbearable, “Please. Even if it's 'fuck off you pervert'. I'm sorry I let it get this far.” he said, “You should put your clothes back on. We'll just forget this ever happened...please...”

“No, I...” Enjolras shook his head, as though snapping out of a trance, “Why didn't you ever tell me?”

“Well why do you think? It's not like you feel the same. And it would have made things weird,” Grantaire muttered, unable to look at him, “Unrequited love isn't exactly a good thing to air out in a large group of friends, you know...?”

Fuck, he'd really gone and done it now. He'd used _the word_. There was no pretending it was a silly crush now, if he wanted to do damage control. The severity of the situation was out there.

He could feel Enjolras staring at him.

“Is that it?” he said quietly, “You never told me because you just assumed I didn't feel the same?”

“Well...yeah. And you don't, right?” Grantaire finally dared to glance at him again to see that Enjolras was looking awkwardly at his feet, cheeks bright pink.

“Enjolras?”

“That's not exactly true.” Enjolras muttered, “You shouldn't just assume anything.”

“Yeah well---wait, what?” Grantaire stopped in his tracks, stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults. Had he understood him correctly? Was he saying...?

“Are, uh...are you saying you do feel the same way?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire felt like the whole world had just shifted out of alignment. Because in what crazy, wonderful universe did Enjolras love him back? It didn't make any sense.

“I...why didn't you tell me?!”

“For the same reasons you didn't tell me!” Enjolras said, throwing up his hands, “I thought it would make things weird. I thought you'd never feel the same way. You're always making sarcastic comments and interrupting my arguments and so I just assumed you found me annoying...”

Hearing that, Grantaire wanted to go back in time and punch his past self in the face for his snide remarks. It was just like him to cockblock himself with his own smartass personality.

“Holy shit. Really?” he said, “You think I don't like you? I...that is so far from the truth. I was just trying to get you to notice me. Fuck, that sounded even sadder out loud than it did in my head...”

Enjolras smirked slightly, “It did a bit.” he admitted.

Grantaire let out a breathless laugh, still trying to wrap his brain around what was happening.

“So.” Enjolras said, tucking a golden curl behind one ear, “You like me, I like you...”

“Yeah...”

“Maybe we should do something about that?” he suggested, as calmly and diplomatically as if he were suggesting their next charitable cause at a meeting.

Grantaire could only nod enthusiastically.

Enjolras hesitated a moment and then stepped forwards. He placed his hands tentatively on Grantaire's shoulders, and then, rather unexpectedly, his lips were against Grantaire's. Grantaire could hardly believe it. The kiss was clumsy and amateur and all teeth, like he didn't quite know what he was doing, and Grantaire suddenly found himself wondering if this was the first time Enjolras had ever kissed anybody. Something about the thought of being his first kiss made him feel absolutely giddy inside.

After a moment they broke apart, Enjolras' face bright scarlet.

“Wow.” Grantaire said, feeling a little like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“I shouldn't have done that,” Enjolras said suddenly, a panicked look crossing his face, “I mean, I should have asked you first. I'm sorry. Fuck, and we were just talking about the importance of consent...”

“It's okay. It was still great.”

Enjolras smiled, “Well...uh,” he looked down at himself, suddenly remembering that he was still in his underwear, “I suppose we should do these photos...”

“Are you sure you still want to do them? There's no pressure,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras shrugged, “I...don't know if I want to,” he admitted, “I mean, I was never a huge fan of the idea, if you can believe it.”

“You? Never!” Grantaire joked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, adding more coyly, “I'm just a bit...nervous about it, I suppose,” he said, and then a spark of an idea lit up his face, “But I have an idea that could help with that.”


	14. The Calendar

“R! Are you ready for your fantastic photography debut?” Bahorel threw an arm around Grantaire's shoulders, almost pulling him over with the force, “Anita Lebowski can eat her heart out!”

“Annie Leibovitz.” Grantaire corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, you knew who I meant,” Bahorel snorted, “Whatever. Are you excited to see your work in all it's glossy, cheap-photo-paper glory?”

“I'm trembling with anticipation.” Grantaire said flatly.

Bahorel grinned, “Can't wait to see my page, buddy,” he said, patting him roughly on the back, “This is how I break out as a Playboy model, I just know it!”

They'd all gathered in the Musain for what Courfeyrac was calling 'The great calendar reveal party'; he'd thought the name was a work of hilarious genius – 'get it?' he'd said, 'because it's both revealing the calendar, and the calendar is revealing! Ha!'

Drinks were flowing and Chetta had gotten special permission from management to stay open later than usual; there was a sign on the door advertising their charity calendar, and they'd been passing out flyers for it all week. Cosette had provided a veritable feast of baked goods – some of which Grantaire was definitely planning on sampling – and now all they were waiting for was the calendars themselves. Enjolras and Feuilly had gone to the printers to pick them up, braving the chill of an unusually cold October afternoon.

“I knew you'd come through for us, R,” Joly said, as he poured drinks for everyone, “You're more talented than you want to admit!”

“Uh huh. I just want all you assholes to know, I hated every second of this,” Grantaire said, as Eponine made her way over to him with a plastic cup of the suspicious beverage variety.

“And I want all you assholes to know that my spread is _clearly_ the hottest of the lot.” Eponine said, “With the exception of Cosette's and Chetta's. _Maybe_ Combeferre's.”

“To Combeferre and his hot librarian bod,” Grantaire said, raising his cup.

“Can we drop that?” Combeferre asked, over Courfeyrac's laughter.

“Sorry.”

“So how'd it go with Enjolras' shoot?” Eponine pressed, giving him a stern look, “You didn't get all hot and bothered, did you?”

“Oh shut up,” Grantaire mumbled, shoving her playfully, “I was very professional. You'll see. You looking forward to getting a look at Marius' page...?”

“Don't start,” Eponine said, suddenly looking very morose, “It's got even worse, R,” she said, “It's not even just Marius anymore.” her gaze went briefly to Cosette, who was handing out cookies.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, instantly understanding.

“Wow. That's really rough.”

“Yeah. What the fuck do you do when the two people you like are dating each other?”

“Ask them both out?” Grantaire suggested, sipping his drink.

“Don't be an ass.”

“I mean it,” he said, “It worked for Joly, Bossuet and Chetta...”

A thoughtful look crossed Eponine's face, “I guess.”

At that exact moment, the door burst open, a gust of autumn wind sweeping into the cafe; Enjolras and Feuilly stepped in, each of them bundled up to the nines and lugging two boxes from the printers.

“We got them!” Feuilly announced, red-nosed and practically buried in his scarf.

“Lets see them then!” Jehan cried, “We're all desperate to see how it turned out!”

“Give them a chance to open them!” Bossuet laughed.

Enjolras dropped his boxes down on the table with a thud, huffing loudly, “Okay,” he said, using his key to cut open the box, “Is everybody ready?”

It was a bit of a redundant question in Grantaire's opinion; everyone had already crowded around him, Courfeyrac at the forefront.

“I'd just like to make a quick announcement, since this was my idea,” he said loudly, raising up his plastic cup as though to make a toast, “You're all very welcome. Also, thanks for getting down to your birthday suits for a good cause.”

“Hear hear!” Cried Joly, who had probably had a little too much to drink.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, starting to pass out copies of the calendar to eager hands. They all instantly began flipping through them.

“I make a great cover boy!” Courfeyrac said excitedly, turning to January.

“Damn, Chetta! I didn't realise sexy waitress was a thing?” Bahorel said.

“It's not.” Chetta sighed.

“Is now!”

“Jehan, is that skull real?” Feuilly asked.

“Duh. Do I look like someone who would have a _fake_ skull?” Jehan said, apparently indignant at the suggestion alone, “Don't you remember Yorik from last Halloween?”

“Didn't you do shots out of it once?” Joly said.

“That's irrelevant. But yes.”

“Eponine, yours looks wonderful!” Cosette said, hurrying over to Eponine and hugging her arm, “Your eyeliner is great. You'll have to come over to my place and help me with mine sometime.”

“Uh, yeah...thanks...” Eponine had turned beet red in the face, “Anytime...”

“Oh my god!” Courfeyrac cried, so loudly his voice drowned out everyone else's, “ _What the fuck?!_ ”

Grantaire exchanged a quick look with Enjolras; it was obvious what page he'd stumbled across.

“When the hell did _that_ happen?!” Courfeyrac turned the calendar around to show Grantaire, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull.

The picture was of him and Enjolras sitting together, wrapped in the oversized French flag, with Enjolras planting a small kiss on Grantaire's cheek.

“Oh my god!” Bahorel had turned to July too, it seemed.

“You guys did it together?” Jehan.

Eponine raised one eyebrow slowly, “Huh...no wonder you're in such a good mood...” she said, “Please tell me you two didn't bang in the Musain. I eat here.”

“We had underwear on.”Grantaire said, holding up his hands, “You just can't see that because of the flag.”

“Sure...”

“Really.” Enjolras put in, “It was completely innocent. It didn't feel appropriate that these photos be the first time we see each other naked.”

“The first time, eh?” Bossuet waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “So there will be a first time?”

Enjolras blushed, stammering to answer. Though admittedly finding it adorable, Grantaire decided to rescue him; it seemed only appropriate he be chivalrous, since they had agreed to go to dinner together after the big calendar reveal.

“He was just nervous about doing it by himself,” he said, “So I agreed to join in. It was less scary together...”

Enjolras cast him a smile, taking his hand under the table.

“You two are so transparent,” Courfeyrac said, a dreamy expression on his face, “I'm so glad this finally happened.”

“Yeah, well done you guys!” Joly said, “About time!”

Enjolras, still flush-faced and, frankly, adorable, cleared his throat, “Anyway,” he said, “We can discuss this later. We have calendars to sell.”

* * *

 

The night went well, even Grantaire had to admit.

They sold plenty of copies of the calendar – including several to an elderly lady who seemed besotted with Bahorel – and it looked like the profits might just be enough to keep the shelter afloat, at least for a little while.

And they weren't done - Combeferre was still handling the internet sales.

It was late by the time everyone started to peel off towards their own homes, some of the group more than a little bit drunk; Enjolras had lingered behind to help Musichetta clear up in the wake of the chaos, and so, of course, Grantaire had lingered behind too.

“So,” Enjolras said, as he collected up paper plates for the recycling, “Dinner, huh?” he glanced at the clock; it was past midnight, “I don't think that's going to happen now, unfortunately...”

“Don't say that!” Grantaire said, raising his eyebrows, “I happen to know a very fine establishment that stays open late.”

“Oh?” Enjolras paused what he was doing, “Where?”

“The twenty-four-hour cafe by my apartment.”

Enjolras laughed, shaking his head, “Very classy.”

“Don't make fun! They do great pain au chocolat! Are you telling me that _you_ of all people are discerning about your choice of restaurant?” Grantaire gasped, “Is your fancy upbringing starting to show...?”

“Don't,” Enjolras said, immediately threatening to Frisbee used paper plates at him, “Seriously.”

“I'm just curious!” Grantaire held up his hands, “I need to know if I have to break out the diamonds and expensive champagne if we're going to be dating...HEY!” he ducked as Enjolras launched a paper plate at his head.

“Don't be a dick.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Grantaire snickered, feeling his heart swell in his chest.

Enjolras smirked, setting the plates down, “I suppose I could stoop to a twenty-four-hour cafe...” he said, “But you still owe me dinner, in that case. A croissant, however delicious, is not a full meal...” he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Fine.” Grantaire stepped closer to him, “Any more demands, monsieur?”

“No.” Enjolras took his hand in his, and Grantaire felt a shiver run down his spine. His eyes were so blue and intense that it felt like falling into the ocean, “No other demands. But I would like to ask if I could kiss you again.”

“ _Abso-fucking-lutely_.” Grantaire said emphatically, “You don't always have to ask.”

Enjolras beamed, stepping onto his tiptoes to kiss him again, sweetly and clumsily, like they were a couple of nervous teenagers. The cafe lights started to shut off behind them.

“Hey, lovebirds! Not to interrupt or anything, but we're closing up, remember?” Musichetta shouted.

Pulling away reluctantly, Grantaire turned to her, “Yeah, uh...I know we were helping, but do you mind if we duck out early...? We have a date.”

“Thank god you finally admitted that. Everyone was speculating after what you pulled for the calendar...” Musichetta grinned, “Go on, then. Have fun. But R - don't bring him back to our place if it goes well. I have to get up early in the morning.”

Grantaire felt his ears grow hot, embarassment flooding his face, “Chetta!”

Fortunately, Enjolras seemed to find it hilarious.

“Don't worry,” he said, grabbing Grantaire's hand and pulling him out into the street, “We'll wake Combeferre up instead!”

Grantaire thought he might faint.

As they stepped outside, their breath rising like smoke on cold night air, he made a mental note to kiss Courfeyrac for the calendar idea.


End file.
